


it's dark and it's late (I'll hold you and wait)

by banshee_in_the_dark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 4 + 1 things, Bellamy Blake Is Always Hurt, Canon Compliant, Doctor Abby Griffin, Doctor/Patient, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, No Romance, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Bellamy was just her patient + one time he was family</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's dark and it's late (I'll hold you and wait)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ Haley ](http://jaceherondale.com/) who asked: _I have this thing in my head about Abby and Bellamy. What about after Roan stabbed Bellamy they take him to Abby and she needs to stitch him up. Since he lost some blood he’s a little delirious and after Abby finishes stitching him up and he’s falling asleep he says something like “thanks mom” and Abby just strokes his hair or maybe gives him a kiss on his forehead and tells him “it’s ok bell just get some rest” asdfghjkl gosh I would love to read that_ This didn't turn out _quite_ like that, but I hope you still like it!
> 
> Beta'd by [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) who, like me, feels emotionally compromised when contemplating Bellamy's capacity for love (also a veritable tense changes goddess)

The first time Bellamy Blake came to see her, he was ten and angry and bleeding. He’d gotten into a fight with three fourteen year olds, and while he’d done impressive damage to them for a scrawny preteen, he still got the worse of it.

“This will require stitches,” she told him as she daintily dabbed the cut above his lip with antiseptic. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his nose was broken and he had a hairline fracture on his left cheekbone.

He remained sullenly silent under her care, refusing painkillers when she offered them. Everyone had  heard what the reason for the fight was and despite the gross recklessness he’d shown, Abby couldn’t help but respect him for standing up for his mother even with the odds significantly against him.

His eyes brimmed with tears he wouldn’t let flow as she set the stitches, eight in total and close together, but he didn’t cry or whine. The stubbornly proud look on his face made it clear to her that he wouldn’t accept any sympathy so Abby didn’t offer any. 

But she did pull up his records later that day. All the boys passed through the infirmary and as the on-call doctor, it was part of her job to write a report for the Justice Administration office to decide if disciplinary measures needed to be taken. Violent behavior was never tolerated on the Ark.

Bellamy Blake was a dedicated student. His teachers’ evaluations described him fondly. Math and science were not his strongest suits, but his grades were still well above average. He excelled at History and English and he displayed outstanding leadership qualities far beyond anyone else on his class. His record was flagged by the Guard, meaning they had an interest in him as a potential recruit.

The boys he fought, on the other hand, were unremarkable students with no prospects to be recruited and a history of progressively escalating violent behavior. 

Abby wrote her report, made a recommendation for the three boys to be brought on charges, left an exemplary review on Bellamy’s file and promptly put the whole ordeal out of her mind. 

*

Years later, that review came back to demand her attention. She had a seat on the Council then and they were discussing prospective candidates to be admitted into the Guard flanks.

“You know him personally?” Marcus asked her as she perused the file and re-read her review. 

“Not really but he made an impression,” she said without lifting her eyes from the tablet. Bellamy Blake had the necessary grades and letters of recommendation from two separate Guard officials. His admittance would’ve been in the bag, if his home situation were different.

“It’s come to my attention that the recommendations that allowed him to be considered for the position were obtained somewhat unscrupulously,” Marcus hesitated. He didn’t need to speak more plainly for them to understand his meaning. Unflattering rumors had surrounded Aurora Blake since her husband was floated. What she did in her spare time wasn’t any of their business, so long as it was done respecting the mandates of the Exodus Charter. But her unofficial occupation was the worst kept secret of the Ark. “Your review is the only objective assessment of him we have. Do you stand by it?” Marcus asked.

“I met him briefly when he was a boy, I can’t speak for the adult he has become.” 

She realized not for the first time that her new political standing and her position on the Council made it so people’s lives were in her hands, but in a less immediate way than patients in her OR were. A bad call in this room could ruin someone’s life. It was different than when a crime was committed. It was the law that made the call then and they were subject to it. But when these kinds of situations arose, it was within her power to change a person’s life for the better, or sentence them to a miserable existence. 

Also not for the first time, Abby wondered if she was worthy of making such calls. 

“Let me perform his medical examination and I’ll give you my answer,” she finally decided.

Her second meeting with Bellamy Blake was eerily similar to the first. He was stoic and overwhelmingly polite for the duration of the exam. His records indicated he was a model citizen and hadn’t gotten into any altercations after the incident years ago. Abby hadn’t expected any different or he wouldn’t have been considered a viable candidate for the Guard, but as her own daughter was currently going through a rebellious phase and getting into more trouble than Abby wished, it was nice to know kids grew out of such behaviors.

He was in perfect health, though a little underweight so Abby increased his mandated rations and prescribed him a vitamin supplement. He cracked a rare but brilliant smile when she pointed to the scar splitting his upper lip and apologized for not doing a better job with the stitches.

“I remember the debate your Poli-Sci class participated in last year,” she told him as she instructed him to step on the scale. “You made some compelling arguments. I know one or two section chiefs who were interested in recruiting you. Clerking is not as glamorous as being a guard, but it could lay the necessary groundwork if you’re interested in politics.”

He snorted a laugh. “I don’t have a diplomatic bone in my body. I would fight everyone who disagreed with me.”

Abby smiled, tapping at her tablet. “I love a good argument. As a guard you would just have to do as you’re told.”

Bellamy swallowed and glances away. “I just don’t think I have it in me.”

She cleared him in the end and ratified her earlier recommendation. He got the position and Abby got to feel, as she so rarely did since she took the Council seat, that she’d done something good.

*

Less than two years later news broke out that Aurora Blake had had a second illegal child and kept her hidden her for sixteen years. There was talk about bringing Bellamy Blake up on charges as well. He was not only an accessory in his mother’s crime, but used his position and inside knowledge to perpetuate the crime. 

Abby argued in his favor. His actions were clearly committed under duress so he was not a willing participant. He was also a minor during most of it and doubtless was roped in by his mother into protecting his sister. That Council meeting went on for hours until she managed to get a favorable vote. Bellamy was demoted and kicked off the Guard, but he would live and that was something.

A week later he was brought to the infirmary. Abby was working the night shift when he was brought in by two guards in the small hours of the morning, claiming he had slipped while mopping B-Deck and they found him like that. It was a bold-faced lie and she would have ripped into the two guards if Bellamy hadn’t been so clearly concussed and in need of immediate attention.

“Do you want to press charges?” she asked him quietly as she examined him in a private room. In addition to the concussion, he had bruises along his ribs and back and exhibited all the after effects of prolonged of shock-lashing.

He shook his head no, rocking slightly on his perch on the exam table, disoriented and dazed. He didn’t say a word her and refuse to meet her eyes. She only got a reaction from him when she tried to admit him for twenty-four hours observation, which he opposed fervently. Ultimately, he left the infirmary against medical orders just before the morning rush filled the Ark’s hallways with people.

Abby wrote an incident report but without his statement he couldn’t bring the guards on charges. Bellamy Blake slipped through the cracks after that and she never saw or heard of him for a long time.

*

She was five hours into surgery when the report came. Thelonious was perilously close to dying on her operating table, and it was Bellamy Blake’s fault.

*

The Ground was harsh and beautiful, just like she dreamt it would be. Setting foot on the ground and feeling the pull of gravity, smelling the sweet unfiltered air, the sweat beading on her skin, it all felt like a new beginning. Like a second chance.

Admittedly, Bellamy Blake wasn’t forefront on her mind - her daughter was, at all times, but there was nothing she could do for her presently other than leaving a message on the side of the drophip and hope she found it and made her way back home. Bellamy looked beat up but didn’t seem to be in any pressing danger. The seriousness of Raven’s gunshot wound  took precedence over a few scrapes and bruises, and there were many who sustained injuries in the landing. Even John Murphy passed through her slab before him. 

He was arrested and Kane had been holding him in isolation, so Abby went to him with gauze and antiseptic. This boy/man was the reason Thelonious nearly died, but by Clarke’s account he was also the reason she and the hundred made it this far. Conflicted was a good way to define how she felt about Bellamy Blake.

Upon close inspection, she noticed the bruises around his neck and she suddenly recalled Finn Collins’ words back at the dropship. He was hanged by John Murphy. She was overridden with worry and fear for Clarke’s safety and Raven’s deteriorating condition, but she should’ve paid more attention. She should’ve examined him earlier. Damage from an injury like that could prove life-threatening if left unchecked. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t any serious damage to his airways, though he would feel sore and hoarse for a few days. The cut on his cheek didn’t require stitches but it was well on its way to becoming infected, so she dabbed antiseptic on it. 

The usual pattern held and Bellamy didn’t speak a word, unless grunting yes or no when prompted if something hurt qualified as talking.  

He stopped her when she got up to leave.

“We’re wasting time.” His voice was hoarse and harsh, a product of the damage to his throat, but it was the haunted quality of his words that gave her pause. “I should be out there, looking for them. Clarke is counting on me.”

Abby didn’t acknowledge him, not then, but she orchestrated his escape from lock-up and sent him off armed with guns and her faith that he would find her daughter and bring her home.

*

Months have passed and he’s back in the infirmary. Abby cuts open the leg of the pair of pants he borrowed from the Ice Nation corpse. The rest of the outfit is piled on a chair on the corner, the bone pieces to be thrown away and the fabric and fur to be repurposed. Dry rivulets of blood cover his leg and the hasty pressure bandage on his thigh is completely soaked through. The amount of blood loss worries her but they have the necessary equipment in Mount Weather to perform a transfusion if it comes to that. The stab wound could’ve easily nicked a major artery and he would’ve bled to death before Marcus found him limping through the woods. It’s a miracle he’s even alive and Abby doesn’t have enough prayers to say in thanks for that.

“Kane wants me to speak to you about what happened. He wants me to stress how irresponsible and reckless going off on you own was, unarmed and without back up.”

Bellamy looks at her, eyes glassy and unfocused, a sickly pallor replacing his tanned complexion.

“As chancellor, I find your actions thoughtless and reprehensive,” Abby drones on. “You disobeyed direct orders from your commanding officer, left your unit unprotected, nearly caused a diplomatic conflict and put your life at risk. I don’t need to remind you that you are an important asset to Arkadia, and that your safety matters to us.”

Bellamy shuts his eyes, weariness etched in every line on his face.

“But as a mother – as Clarke’s mother,” Abby’s voice breaks. He glances at her and finds her eyes welling with tears. “Thank you for not giving up on her.”

She means it. Oh, he made a rash decision and she should be furious. But she can’t be. She could never find it in herself to be angry at Bellamy, not for this, not for being so devoted to her daughter. She knows what it’s like to love so recklessly, to get tunnel vision and care so little for everything but one important thing. She’d lay down her life, leave the planet burn if it bought her daughter one more day to live. She’s done her fair share of sacrificing people she loves for the greater good, lost her husband and almost her daughter because duty demanded it, so it’s a lesson she’s learned the hard way. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do, nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice for Clarke.

It’s why she can’t be Chancellor much longer, or at least not a good one. Because if it ever comes a point when she’ll have to choose between Arkadia and her daughter’s personal well-being, if those two should be in conflict, she will choose her daughter every time.

Bellamy is similar to her in that way, only that the circle of people he is willing to protect at all costs is much larger than hers, and it seems to grow and accept members daily. But that’s probably because he values everyone’s life more than he values his own. 

“All I did was make everything worse,” Bellamy rasps, head hanging low in shame. “She promised him she wouldn’t fight him if he let me live. If she’s hurt, it’s on me.”

“No,” Abby barks, her voice harsh and sure. “You showed her we’re still here for her. That no matter how long she stays gone, we still love her and we would do anything for her. And Clarke wanted to protect you,” she smiles watery. “She’s not completely lost to us after all.”

“I’m not worth it.” Bellamy moves and winces, chest heaving with the effort. “How soon can I go?” his voice shakes a little and he blinks rapidly, fighting against unconsciousness. “If we head straight for Azgeda we might intercept them – ”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Abby states firmly. “Your injury is very serious and Kane wants to bench you for the foreseeable future.”

Bellamy huffs and rolls his eyes, a vision of annoyance. “Besides, she’s not with the Ice Nation,· she says tightly. “A messenger came right on your heels. Lexa has her. In Polis.”

She pays close attention to his face. If possible, Bellamy grows even paler, disturbingly so. “Then patch me up and let me go on my way. Lincoln knows Polis, he can help me get in – ”

Abby smiles at him. “How ironic. I spirited you away once in the middle of the night and sent you to find my daughter. Seems like you’re still looking for her.”

“Please. Just shoot me up with antibiotics and brand the injury shut. I’ve seen Clarke do it a thousand times. I need to go.”

“It’s not that simple.  Clarke didn’t have the right medical equipment to deal with these injuries. If I don’t fix it properly you could experience a myriad of complications.”

He stares at her, desperation swimming in his eyes. “Please.”

She sighs. It is very hard to deny him when she wants to be out there looking for her daughter herself, despite the many perfectly logical arguments Marcus has used to dissuade her. But as hard as it is for her, she can’t think like that. She has a duty to Arkadia and her patients.  “Okay,” she says after a moment, decision made and heavy-hearted. “Jackson.”

Having been close at hand in case she needed him, Jackson appears in a matter of seconds. Abby whispers a few words to him. He nods before leaving and comes back after a moment with a syringe and a vial of clear liquid.

“What’s that?” Bellamy asks as she stabs the needle through the silicone cap.

“Just something to help you with the pain,” she reassures him. Abby finds a viable vein on the inside of his arm and after dabbing at the spot with alcohol, she expertly administers the sedative.

All the tension leaves his limbs and his weight settles limply over the bed. “Whoa that – that kicked in real fast,” he slurs. 

She checks his pulse. “How do you feel?”

“Nicest drugs I’ve ever tried.”

She shares an amused smile with Jackson. “Prepare the suture kit. He’ll be out shortly.”

Jackson leaves them alone. Just to be safe, Abby re-check’s Bellamy’s pulse and flashes her light across his eyes. 

Suddenly his hand shoots up grabbing her forearm. He stares at her, alarmed and scared. “You’ll really let me go?” he asks her again, his voice small and pleading. “Please. She’s counting on me.”

Abby’s heart lurches. “Of course,” she lies convincingly. He will not be leaving the infirmary any time soon and even once she discharges him she will deny his request to be part of the group that goes to Polis. 

His dedication to her daughter is admirable and it endears him to her. He loves Clarke. She doesn’t know in what way, though she suspects it’s beyond platonic on his end. But he loves her and that’s dangerous. Because he is still that boy who went up against three others older and much stronger than him to defend the honor of his mother, just as he is the same man who shot Thelonious to get a chance to protect his sister. Bellamy Blake loves hard and recklessly, forgetting all thoughts of his personal safety.

Someone has to take care of him.

“Rest, Bellamy,” she soothes him, combing his mop of messy curls off his forehead with a caring hand. 

She hums a melody that always used to put Clarke to sleep when she was a baby. His eyelids droop and his breathing evens out as he finally succumbs to the narcotics. She leans over him and places a kiss on his forehead, seamlessly reverting back to stoic professionalism when Jackson comes in with the suture tray. She has work to do.


End file.
